GRAVITY AND ITALIAN FOOD

Monday

Apr 29, 2013 at 11:17 AM

There are only two laws in the universe: The Law of Gravity and Everybody Loves Italian Food.

I don’t know where that quote originated. I found it and copied it and kept it. I ran across it last week and thought about how true it is – at least in my life. I grew up on Italian food. With an Italian grandmother living nearby, if my mother ever dared feed her children something like a hamburger, I knew that a nice bowl of pasta or a thick square of pizza (never a triangle) was only a few steps away.

When I got married, I cooked what I’d eaten growing up, except for the mountains of fast food from college days. My husband had grown up eating mac and cheese, meatloaf, and tuna casserole. It never occurred to me that he wanted any of those, although they crept into my repertoire as “house specials.” I just fed him a constant stream of pasta alla marinara, roasted chicken with garlic potatoes. When I put pork chops with sliced potatoes and vinegar peppers on his plate, he never mentioned he’d like broiled pork chops and baked potato. When I stuffed skinny light green peppers with bread and black olives, he ate them without asking to substitute ground beef and tomato soup stuffed peppers. When I made a salad with arugula or dandelion greens instead of iceberg, he said it was good.

I didn’t figure out this disconnect until I was researching a book. All the women I interviewed said that they learned to cook what their husband’s families ate. I’d never even asked. But, then I remembered my beloved Nonna from Naples telling me that she learned to cook dishess from Abruzzo, an Italian region to the north of hers, for my grandfather.

Although our favorites are now made up of food from around the globe, my husband still doesn’t complain. I guess, it’s because he, like everybody, loves Italian food.

lindabcooks

There are only two laws in the universe: The Law of Gravity and Everybody Loves Italian Food.

I don’t know where that quote originated. I found it and copied it and kept it. I ran across it last week and thought about how true it is – at least in my life. I grew up on Italian food. With an Italian grandmother living nearby, if my mother ever dared feed her children something like a hamburger, I knew that a nice bowl of pasta or a thick square of pizza (never a triangle) was only a few steps away.

When I got married, I cooked what I’d eaten growing up, except for the mountains of fast food from college days. My husband had grown up eating mac and cheese, meatloaf, and tuna casserole. It never occurred to me that he wanted any of those, although they crept into my repertoire as “house specials.” I just fed him a constant stream of pasta alla marinara, roasted chicken with garlic potatoes. When I put pork chops with sliced potatoes and vinegar peppers on his plate, he never mentioned he’d like broiled pork chops and baked potato. When I stuffed skinny light green peppers with bread and black olives, he ate them without asking to substitute ground beef and tomato soup stuffed peppers. When I made a salad with arugula or dandelion greens instead of iceberg, he said it was good.

I didn’t figure out this disconnect until I was researching a book. All the women I interviewed said that they learned to cook what their husband’s families ate. I’d never even asked. But, then I remembered my beloved Nonna from Naples telling me that she learned to cook dishess from Abruzzo, an Italian region to the north of hers, for my grandfather.

Although our favorites are now made up of food from around the globe, my husband still doesn’t complain. I guess, it’s because he, like everybody, loves Italian food.

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